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The Joy of Coffee

The title for this blog is pretty ambitious. How can I, a mere transplant from Portland, OR, relate all the glories of that brew? Wouldn’t someone from South America or even Seattle be a better choice?

A couple of my readers have twitted me about not writing about coffee or chocolate (much), as mentioned in my blog’s (enormous) tagline. And so, this post.

Alas, dear readers. You are stuck with me.

This week was a wee bit short on sleep. Every night, for the last 4 out of 5, Ruby awakened with either a bad dream or the sniffles. At first it seemed faked. I got a bit…peeved. Yes, I realize I was questioning my own daughter’s veracity but hear me out. Ruby loves taking medicine. I would shuffle downstairs, Ruby in tow, and mete out her allotted amount. We’d then march back upstairs and I’d tuck her in.

You’re probably thinking, Silly, why didn’t you give her the medicine *before* she went to bed? Yeah. I thought about that too. I did that a couple of times. But she would be pretty okay when she went to bed. It’s just that 3:45 a.m. window when things went south and she could no longer breathe through her nose. I kept thinking we could dodge it. But it appears to be dust allergies, aggravated from spending 3 days excavating her bedroom. By Wednesday, my husband even noticed I looked a bit peaked, my eyes ringed with purple circles.

“Do you want to sleep in?” he queried. “I can get the kids their breakfast and take them to school.”

I diligently went back to my luxurious marshmallow bed and crawled under the covers. And…nothing. Being an unrepentant morning person, once I’m up, I’m up. The thought was very wonderful and kind.

Now you’re wondering where I’m going with this rambling narrative. Coffee. I like my dark brown elixir with milk, cream,or half and half and plenty of sugar. It helped drag my sorry behind out of bed and into the rest of the day. Coffee fueled my activities and got my synapses firing. Am I the only one who appreciates that caffeine is a legal substance? Probably not, considering the monster success of Starbucks and the 72 coffee shops/stands inside Shelton’s city limits.

Coffee is also a social beverage. I’ve had countless meetings with family and friends over coffee. It’s an ideal first date, I’ve heard. A little jolt of java and conversation. We could probably solve all the world’s problems over coffee.

I didn’t even start drinking it until my mid-20s. I noticed sometimes that I awoke tired. I was working out hard then and eating very little. I look back now and wonder what I subsisted on. Air? Sunflower seeds? Anyway, I started mixing coffee with hot cocoa, a “poor man’s mocha”, one of the engineers I worked with called it. And I felt alive. I could multitask my way through my nonstop day. Who needs a lunch break? I had found supersonic fuel! I had performed a movement of Bach’s “Coffee Cantata” with my mom for my senior recital. I got it now.

I still feel the same, with some reservations. Coffee in the afternoon, regular or espresso, keeps me up. I can’t drink more than 2 cups a day or I’m super obnoxious and edgy. And the next day, I have a sort of caffeine hangover. Yes, I’m a coffee wimp. But I can appreciate it for its magical properties. I will forever sing its praises.